Twas The Night
by TsukiBooks
Summary: Athos faces the darkest Christmas Eve of his life, coming to wish that he'd never been born. Then, he is visited by a Guardian Angel who shows him what life would be like had he never existed. (Inspired By It's A Wonderful Life) Slight AthosXOC, but main focus is friendship.
1. The Darkest Nights

**Author's Note: I know it's a bit late for a Christmas Fic, but this came to me when watching It's A Wonderful Life for the first time. It's been a while since writing but the combination of Exams, Family Commitment and a lack of inspiration has barely left me any time.**

**Regardless, this is my muse! Enjoy!**

**Summary: Athos faces the darkest Christmas Eve of his life, coming to wish that he'd never been born. Then, he is visited by a Guardian Angel who shows him what life would be like had he never existed.**

**Genre: Friendship & Hurt/Comfort.**

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

* * *

><p><strong>Twas the Night...<strong>  
><strong>Chapter One, The Darkest Night:<strong>

"I knew somethin' were troublin' him. Troublin' him more than usual, I mean." Porthos said, as he and his Companion walked briskly through the chilly evening streets of Paris, their boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow.

"So did I." Aramis sighed, "He's always distant this time of year, but ever since...Milady...it's like he's been hardened somehow. I had hoped that being rid of the damned locket of hers would finally free him from the burden of guilt he's been harbouring all these years."

"Aye, me too. Looks like we were wrong." The Big Musketeer said, as he and Aramis exchanged grim looks.

It was Christmas Eve.

It was a time of merriment and joy. Porthos had just come back from his last patrol, before his three days off to enjoy the Yuletide, and had frolicked into the Garrison in a burst of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', when Aramis had come hurtling into the Yard, grabbed the Big Musketeer by the arm and proceeded to hiss in his ear; "It's '25 all over again!"

To anyone else, they might have been confused. To Porthos, it was code for 'very, very bad.' You see, it had been on Christmas Day of 1625, when Athos had faced the darkest hours of his life. It had been on Christmas Day of 1626, when Aramis and Porthos had got him through it. So when Aramis whispered those five words in his ear, Porthos did not hesitate to follow after him at quick pace as they fled the Garrison.

Which was how they came to stand outside a dark and rather dank looking Tavern. Aramis pushed the rickety door open and the two Musketeers stepped inside, coming to find what would've been a fine merry mood, if not for their fear for Athos. And it did not take long for them to find the Man in question.

He sat in the darkest corner, glass discarded and drinking straight from the bottle. D'Artagnan stood by the bar, watching the Man he saw as a Mentor with concern. Naturally, Porthos and Aramis approached him.

"He told me to leave him alone, else he'd shoot me in the foot." The Gascon told them, with his brow furrowed. "After the last time he shot me when drunk, I decided I wouldn't take the risk."

"Good decision..." Aramis murmured, leaning against the bar.

Porthos gazed over at Athos with big sad eyes, the worry and the anxiety barring his forehead and adorning his face. "You were right about it being like '25 all over again...I haven't seen him so lost in a long time."

D'Artagnan shook his head; "I've never seen him like this before."

And it was true. Certainly, he had seen Athos in such a state of vulnerability and pain, back at La Fere. But, this was different. He was not vulnerable, in the sense of fear and hopelessness. He was angry. It was more like when Athos had caught Milady in the market and put his pistol to her neck, except ten times worse.

"Come on, let's get him home before he starts a fight because he's drunk all the wine." Porthos stated, and Aramis gave him a nod. The three of them set off across the Tavern to where Athos had just cracked open another bottle.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" Aramis inquired, as they arrived.

"As I am very aware of you still being here, I think not." Athos retorted, coldly. This would've usually been quite the wry comment, which at another time would've summoned a chuckle from his Comrades. Right now, however, it sounded deadly, even with the slight slur on his tongue.

"Is that your Gentlemanly way of tellin' us to piss off?" Porthos joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Did it work, however?

No, of course not.

"Leave me be." Athos growled, before tipping his head back as he brought the bottle to his lips. The red substance burnt his throat, for drinking was not a comfort, but almost a punishment to him.

"You've been trying that on us for 5-years, my Friend. It hasn't worked then, it won't work now." Aramis replied, simply. He reached for the bottle, only to have Athos pull it away and glare at him.

"I have been asking for 5-long-years for you to leave me be, yet you still insist to bother me!" He angrily snarled at them.

"Well, we ain't leavin' without you." Porthos stated, as he put his hands on the table and gave him a long gaze. Athos met the Big Man's gaze with a cold glare of his own. Aramis and D'Artagnan looked between Athos and Aramis as the staring-match continued, before looking at each other with concern.

"Porthos?"

A gentle voice broke through the glaring-battle, making all four heads turn. One of the Barmaids stood before them, clad in a simple skirt, chemise and bodice. She was mixed-race, like Porthos, with a round face but high cheekbones. Her eyes were a roundish almond shape, with thick eyelashes, and the colour of her irises seemed almost like like a violet shade in the light. Her dark hair was pinned up into a messy bun, with little ringlet curls escaping it.

Porthos blinked at the Girl.

"Noelle?"

"Porthos!" The Barmaid laughed, a beautiful smile adorning her face, as she placed the tray she held onto a table. Porthos' booming laugh erupted from him and he opened his arms wide to embrace her small body.

"Do my eyes deceive me; Noelle Maurice! My word! How have you been! Let me have a look at ye'!" He laughed, pulling back to enough to look her over, his great wolfy grin on his face. "You look beautiful!"

"Oh, nonsense." She said, with an embarrassed smile.

Porthos laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning to face his comrades; D'Artagnan looking bemused, Aramis looking politely charming and Athos having retreated back to his drink. "Lads, this is Noelle. Me and her grew up together, we did!"

"Ah, so you know our Porthos, well then?" Aramis asked, politely.

"Everyone in the Court of Miracles knew Porthos well!" Noelle chuckled, with a smile. "The Gentle Giant, we used to call him."

"Noelle, this is Aramis, and this D'Artagnan." The 'Gentle Giant' introduced, gesturing to first the Romantic and then the Gascon. He then turned to the Comte De La Fere. "And this is Athos."

"It's nice to meet you all." She said, as she shook hands with Aramis and D'Artagnan. She then turned to Athos, but found herself only ignored. She turned back to Porthos.

"So, I heard you were a Musketeer from Flee." Noelle said, with a kind smile. "I'm glad you've found your place in the World, I always knew you were meant for more than just the Court of Miracles! I've managed to escape that place myself."

"Fine words coming from a Barmaid."

The dry and spiteful comment came from Athos, muttered just loud enough for her to hear. She turned her gaze to stare at him, a gleam of hurt streaking through her eyes.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" She asked, pointedly.

Athos brought his bright blue eyes, dulled by wine, up to meet hers as he took a deep swig from the bottle he was already three quarters of the way through. "Only that you talk as if you have made some kind of elevated amendment to your quality of life, however I hasten to point out that you have come from the scum of the Streets, to the scum of the Taverns. And I imagine that although you now have a roof over your head, your role is still the same; using your beauty to persuade your Patrons into forfeiting their money from their pockets."

Something flashed again in her eyes, this time it was not only hurt, but anger. What happened next was so unexpected and so fast, that it shut Athos up real good, if only for a moment.

Noelle pulled back her hand and brought it around to slap Athos around the fast, hard. He choked the wine he had just been swallowing, bursting into a coughing fit.

"How dare you speak to me as if I am some kind of Working Girl! You have no right!" She yelled, angrily. With that, she turned and whisked away, without even giving him a second glance.

"Noelle!" Porthos called after her. Anger contorted his face and he turned back to Athos, seizing the front of his doublet and dragging him to his feet. "What is the matter with you! She's the most decent Woman I've ever known, you can't speak to her like that!"

Athos tore himself away from Porthos' grasp, stumbling back to hit the chair and send to falling onto the floor. His own eyes burned with rage, his jaw was set tight and his fists were balled into fists.

"My apologies, did I offend your little Friend?" He hissed, his voice was like it was laced with venom. Porthos growled as he pulled his fist back, but before he could throw the punch, Aramis caught his arm.

"Don't." He cautioned, carefully. "He's trying to taunt you into fighting him."

"And it seems to me that it's working." Athos stated dryly, from behind him, taking up the bottle again and taking another long drink from the contents. Aramis shot him a dark look, but kept his eyes, otherwise, trained on Porthos.

"Don't rise to it. You know he doesn't mean it." He calmly reasoned. Porthos dropped his fist, giving Athos one last glare, before stalking off in search of his old friend. Aramis let out a deep sign and then turned to Athos.

"That was uncalled for, she hadn't done anything wrong." He said, gently. Athos put the bottle to his lips and drank again, turning his cold gaze to him. D'Artagnan looks between them, uncertainly.

"Always one to fall to a pretty face." Athos sneered, harshly.

"Athos-..." Aramis murmured, moving to take a step closer. Very suddenly, the elder Musketeer threw the bottle to the ground, where it smashed loudly, and drew his pistol, pointing it directly at Aramis.

"Leave, Damn it!" He yelled, anger evident in his voice.

Aramis eyed the barrel of the gun, warily. He knew that Athos would never shoot him, never. But that didn't mean that Athos would hurt himself. He caught D'Artagnan's arm and pushed him toward the door.

"Go. We're only making him more agitated." He whispered to the Gascon, and the two of them left.

Athos holstered his gun back when he saw that Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos had gone. He picked up the last of the bottles from the table, pulling the cork from it's top with his teeth and spitting it aside. He gulped it down heavily, letting it burn his throat.

_They deserved better than me._ He thought with despair.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

* * *

><p><strong>Throw me a review :)<strong>


	2. The Guardian Angel

**I finished this second chapter really quickly. I guess I'm just enjoying writing this. Am I hopeful that this will be done by New Year? Not at all. But we can give it a go!**

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

* * *

><p><strong>Twas The Night...<strong>

**Chapter Two, The Guardian Angel:**

The Night was late when Athos stumbled out of the Tavern, and snow had fallen thickly, leaving a deep blanket of white in it's wake. Athos trudged through it, goose bumps rising on the back of his neck, and it felt as if each step only broke his heart even more.

He truly believed that the four Men, who he cared for so deeply, deserved to have a better man as their Brother in Arms. He believe that they deserved better than him.

Porthos, the Gentle Giant, indeed. A Great Fighter, a Loyal Friend and A Man who lives life to the full. Aramis, the 'Romantic Hero Type'. With such an insight into Human Nature, the Man was brave and loyal and faithful. D'Artagnan, the Gascon Farm-boy. So young and enthusiastic, yet having seen enough of the world to feel a fierce hunger for justice.

And what was he? A Coward, a Fool and a Man with the blood of the innocent on his hands.

Athos hadn't made it a street over when he ran into a group of drunk Red Guard. Perhaps, seeing easy-pickings, the Red Guard surrounded the intoxicated Musketeer. Before Athos could register what was happening, one of the Red Guard's fist had collided with his face. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap on the ground, being kicked at and stamped on until he couldn't draw breath.

And then they were walking away, toward the Tavern, and laughing cruelly among themselves.

"Merry Christmas, Musketeer!" One of them yelled back, spitting the words out as if it were poison.

For a long while, Athos just lay there in the snow, with a bloody lip. The cold made his muscles tense and his bones stiffen, and his body ache altogether. But he made no effort to get up.

For what would be the point? He would be better dead. He had nothing else to offer, not really. His heart was broken beyond repair, his soul was troubled and undoubtedly damned. His cold hard walls meant he could never offer comfort or reassurance. And the heavy weight on his chest meant he could never bring himself to laugh and share in joy.

Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan would certainly be better off without him. They would be freed from their sense of duty to him. They would be free to laugh and enjoy life, without his mournful presence making everything cold. They would no longer have to deal with the consequences of his past.

And as Athos' mind drifted there, there was no turning back.

Thomas would have been better off if he had been dead, for he wouldn't have met Anne, she wouldn't have killed him. Thomas would have led the life he deserved to live.

And not only Thomas, but Remi would have lived also. And all the others that Anne had murdered as a result of the Monster she had become, the Monster he had made her.

In that sense, it would have been better if he had never been born. Then there would be no consequences for Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan, for Constance and Treville, to bear. Thomas would have lived. Surely even Anne would have had a better life without him.

With that cruel thought in his muddled mind and the coldness and darkness beginning to consume him, the words then fell from Athos' bloody lips; "I wish I had never been born."

And that was all he knew, for a long time.

* * *

><p>Bells rang out in a gracious tune, slowly bringing Athos to awareness. As his eyes fluttered opened, he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the intricate design that was the ceiling of Notre Dame. His brows knitted together, <em>'When did I get here?'<em>

"Ah, you're awake!"

The voice made Athos bolt upright into a sitting position, far too alert for someone who had drunk far too much than what was healthy for any Man's liver. He looked around quickly, finding the Cathedral completely empty, except for himself.

And the pretty Barmaid from the Tavern, sitting elegantly upon a pew before him. Except, she was different from before. She was dressed in perfectly pure white dress, the skirt of which finished in flowing and varied lengths of fabric, that came to her ankles, with equally as flowing sleeves. She wore no shoes or drape or coat, as if the cold did not affect her. Her hair had been released from it's untidy bun, leaving long ringlets to gracefully flow down her back. Her eyes shone with a lightness that Athos hadn't noticed before, exaggerating the violet shading to them.

"You again?" Athos murmured, almost to himself. The Barmaid smiled, a bright and radiant smile if had ever seen one. Did he not noticed that before? He got uneasily to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked, finally, noticing her bare arms and toes.

"Not really." The Women replied, with a shrug. Athos arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. What could you say to that? Instead, he looked around Notre Dame. He couldn't remember getting there. Last he could remember was his delightful encounter with those Red Guard, and then...

His heart sunk as he remembered lying there in the snow, as he recalled all those mistakes, the lives taken by his hand. And how better off his Friends would be without him.

"You're wrong." The Women suddenly said, breaking through his muddled thoughts. Athos looked over his shoulder, finding her still sitting on the pew and watching him with gleaming eyes.

"Wrong about what?" Athos asked, uninterestedly.

"That Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan would be better off without you." She answered, in a tone that suggested she was making light conversation over tea. The Musketeer turned quickly, fixing his eyes on her.

"Excuse me?"

The Barmaid looked at him, intently, as the corner of her lip pulled up into an amused smile. "They wouldn't be better off without you. They love you. They need you."

"You know nothing." Athos scoffed, harshly. "This matter does not concern you."

It was her turn to arch an eyebrow at him, and she rose gracefully to her feet.

"I think you'll find, Athos, is that I know all about you." She countered, as she approached him. "I know that the blame you hold in your heart, I know regret that troubles your soul. I know about Milady, about Thomas..."

Athos glared at her as she stepped right up in front of him, barely inches away. "I know about everything."

"Who are you?!" Athos growled out. His hand shot out to grab her arm forcefully, but it clasped on thin air, because as he blinked he found she had disappeared from in front of him.

"Well, I think you know who I am."

He swivelled around, finding her sitting, cross-legged, upon the steps leading to altar. She smiled brightly, and Athos stared at her, completely dumbfounded. He glanced at the place she'd been, then back to where she was now.

"How did you-...?" He trialled off, confusion edging onto his face.

She raised her eyebrows, expectantly. "You still don't quite get it do you?"

"I'm still trying to remember how I got here, Mademoiselle, so please forgive me if I'm a bit slow on the uptake." Athos drawled, wryly as he moved to sit down at one of the pews. It was too early for this, and he really should have a hangover after the evil amount of alcohol he consumed.

"Allow me to introduce myself," She said, dancing lightly to her feet. "I am your Guardian Angel."

Athos stared at her for a moment, before sighing and rubbing his hand over his face. This was just too much. He looked back up at her and gave her a tired look. "How much did I drink last night?"

"Too much, really." She answered, lightly. "But I'm not here to talk about you drinking your way to an early grave. And this isn't some drunken hallucination, I ensure you."

"Well, I'm convinced." He scoffed, shaking his head. The Barmaid gracefully moved over to him, settling on the pew next to him and folding her hands in her lap.

"You believe that the world would be a better place had you never been born." She stated, with such a softness to her voice. "I am here, because you are wrong."

"Oh, am I?" Athos inquired, fiercely. "Had I never been born than Thomas would have lived! Aramis, Porthos, D'Artagnan, Treville, Constance, hell even the Queen, would have never had to suffer the consequences of my actions! I am quite sure that even Anne would have had a better outcome in life without me!"

"You're wrong." She declared, simply.

"Then explain to me, _what_ benefit am I to anyone!?" He demanded, angrily. There was a lingering silence following his request, as Athos turned his eyes back to the front of the Church.

"Perhaps I could show you?" She said, gently, as she turned her eyes onto him. Athos turned to meet her gaze, her eyes burning with brightness and light. He stared into those deep pools, before dragging his eyes away.

"And how would you do that, oh my Guardian Angel?" Athos asked, sarcastically.

"Angel will do, just fine, thank you." She shot back, as she rose to her feet. She offered him her hand, with a knowing smile gracing her lips. "Take my hand, and I will show you what Life would be like had you never existed."

Athos stared at her for a moment.

"Why the Barmaid?" He asked, after a moment. She raised her eyebrows, so he elaborated. "If you _are_ my Guardian Angel, then why do you look like Porthos' Friend, the Barmaid?"

"Because..." She began slowly. "You thought she was beautiful, but being as you are frightened of beautiful women, you instead treated her the way you did."

Athos raised his eyebrows a little, surprised that she knew _that_ as well. If he was a little more hopeful, he may have thought that she really _was_ his Guardian Angel.

"Shall we go?" Angel asked, with a smile. Athos gazed at her for a moment longer, before with a huff, he got to his feet. It wasn't that he believed her, oh no. He was, just sometimes, a little hopeful.

Athos placed his hand in hers, and she grinned at him radiantly. Despite all his concerns and doubts, and all his fears and miseries, for a moment he couldn't help the small twitch in the corner of his lip.

"Come along then, Musketeer."

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

><p><strong>Come along then, Readers!<strong>

**Keep on reading and please review. ****Reviews are my life source!**


	3. The Brother & The Wife

**So it is unlikely I'll finish this before New Year, Frankly, I'm not even going to try it. But, I'll see if I can finish it for Friday, (I say without any real hope) before the start of Season 2 of the Musketeers **

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

* * *

><p><strong>Twas The Night...<strong>

**Chapter Three, The Brother and the Wife:**

Athos blinked, and then blinked again, just to make sure. He was at La Fere, standing in the vast white snow that layered over the fields before the Chateau. His jaw dropped.

Angel leaned her chin against his shoulder, twining her arm around his, and an amused smirk graced her lips. She raised her hand to tap at his chin, making him close his mouth.

"But...we-we were in Paris...just now, right now...and...what…how is that possible?" He stammered out, totally baffled.

"I told you," She said, lightly. "I'm your Guardian Angel."

Athos shook his head, trying to clear it, and rubbed his eyes, just to check that he wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't, which only functioned to strengthen his uncertainty and complete confusion.

"I'm losing my mind." He murmured, wearily. He looked at Angel, who stood beside him with her arm still linked to his, looking at La Fere with a graceful smile. Her arms were still bare, and her glancing down, he found she didn't have any shoes on either.

"Aren't you cold?" Athos asked, brow knitting together with concern.

"Nope." She answered, adding a little _pop_ to the 'P'. The Musketeer stared at her uncertainly, before turning back to the Chateau. None of this made any sense, particularly not her.

"Shall we go in then?" Angel suggested, with all the pleasantness of mentioning the weather. With her arm still hooked in his, she took off across the white expanse, dragging Athos along with her. As they went, he glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to find that she, nor he for that matter, had left any footprints.

This day was getting stranger and stranger with each passing moment.

It wasn't long until Athos and his Guardian Angel had reached the Chateau. They went in through the back door that led into the kitchen. Athos was welcomed, as soon as he walked in, with the smell of roasting turkey and the chatter of Cooks and Scullery Maids. He looked around the sizable kitchen, as clear preparations were being made for Christmas Dinner.

"This reminds me of preparations for Christmas Dinner when I was a Boy." He murmured, a wistful smile on his lips. "The smell of turkey, vegetables simmering in pots..._Ha!_ Madam Beauchene, the House Keeper!"

A small and plump woman hobbled into view, barking orders at the Scullery Maids.

"She always was a bit of a dragon." Athos chuckled, with a smile. Angel took his arm again, and led him to the staircase that led to the main house. He followed after her, looking around his old home.

It seemed so much different when it wasn't covered in cob-webs and dust, or going up in flames. It was fully decorated with holly and wreathes hanging up, and pomanders leaving scents of fresh citrus about the Chateau.

Athos followed Angel into the familiar sitting room, where a fire had been lit. A single armchair rested in the room, facing the fire, so that the Man in the chair had his back them. A glass of wine sat on a table beside him.

His Guardian Angel slipped from his side and went to stand beside the fire, looking at the Man with strangely sad eyes. She turned her eyes to Athos, and gestured to the Man.

"Go on..." She encouraged, softly.

Athos moved to stand beside her, shifting to look at the Man in the armchair. His breath caught, his heart jumped and all the weight from his shoulders just disappeared. For there, sitting in that armchair, was Thomas.

"Thomas?" Athos choked, a crooked smile spreading across his lips. "Thomas! You're alive! I can't believe it!"

The Musketeer went to move to him, but was stopped by Angel, saying; "He can't see you. You and I are like dreams, we aren't really here."

He stepped back, laughing breathlessly as he gazed at his little Brother, so grown up. His dark blue eyes were clearly deep in thought as he gazed into the flickering flames. He lazily lifted the glass of wine from the table to drink from it.

"He looks sad." Athos noted, thoughtfully.

"Remi! Get in here!" Thomas suddenly shouted, his voice cold. It made the smile slowly slip from Athos' lips and his brow knitting together with confusion. Thomas never spoke like that, not to anyone. In the next moment, Remi walked in, suited and booted in a fashion that Athos had never known him to wear, far too formal.

"My Lord?" Remi addressed, his hands behind his back.

"Refill my glass." Thomas commanded, holding out his near empty cup with airiness. Remi picked out a fresh bottle of red from a counter across the room, and then plucked the cork from it's top. He proceeded to fill Thomas' cup to the brim.

"Will that be all, my Lord?" The Valet asked, formally. Even when he was the Comte, Athos had never wished anyone, especially Remi, to call him 'Lord'. And Thomas was very much the same, he even considered Remi a friend, not a Servant. This was all so out of character.

"I expect that you shall want tomorrow off, Remi." Thomas said, speaking with such a condescending and detached formality, it made Athos take an involuntary step back into the wall. His Brother was warm and kind, a bit naive, but he treated everyone as equals and as friends, even strangers.

"I was hoping to, my Lord, if it is not an inconvenience." Remi tentatively answered, as if frightened by his not unreasonable request.

"As a matter of fact, it inconvenient." Thomas harshly barked out, rising from his chair. "I am to have many guests from the Court for dinner, tomorrow. And I expect you here, extra early, tomorrow morning."

"What!?" Athos broke out, utterly horrified by his Little Brother's behaviour.

"But-but, My Lord-..." Remi spluttered out.

"Silence, you penniless pig!" The young Comte angrily roared. "I am the Comte De La Fere, and _you_ are nothing more than the dirt on my shoe! And you will do as I say!"

There was a brief silence as Athos stared at the scene before him with shocked disbelief and horror. It was enough to make him suddenly feel sick and his stomach turn to lead. This could not be happening.

"Yes, my Lord." Remi finally sighed, quietly.

"Good. Now, get out!" Thomas sneered, sitting back down and gazing into the fire and drinking his wine. Remi gazed at Thomas for a moment longer, hopelessness and despair in his eyes, before turning and leaving.

"Thomas..." Athos murmured, staring at his Little Brother with confusion and disbelief marring his face. "I don't understand. Thomas...Thomas isn't like this. He's kind, and generous, and...My baby Brother isn't like _this_."

"Except, he is not your baby brother, Athos." Angel added, softly. "At least not the one you know."

"What happened to him?" He asked, sadly.

"It's not what happened to him Athos, it's what didn't happen." She answered, simply. He turned his gaze to look at her, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. He couldn't understand what could have made his Brother so cold and cruel.

"As you were never born, he was the first, and the only, son of your Father; Olivier." Angel continued, "You must recall how much pressure there is, being the heir to the role of Comte. You must remember how lonely it is."

"I remember, well. But..." Athos sighed as he looked at his younger Brother again. "I was always thought that Thomas would have been suited to the role than I."

"And he is!" Angel added, calmly. "He is suited well the role of Comte De La Fere. He is a Political Master, within the King's very inner circle. He had great influence and the Estate has never wealthier."

Then she sighed; "But being a Good Noble, does not make a Good Man. Thomas grew bitter and cold, growing up. He became a bully. Although the estate itself is wealthy, the people are not. They live under his heavy taxing and fierce rule. Tonight...Remi will take his life, because of the cruel treatment he suffers at the hand of his _Lord_. And Thomas? He will not care."

"Thomas is kind though, by nature." Athos tried to protest, but Angel cut him short.

"Thomas was kind because _you_." She corrected, simply.

The Musketeer looked at her again, and asked; "Me?"

"_You._ Growing up, Thomas took after your example of grace and charity. The same grace and charity you took after from your Mother." Angel told him, gently. "She died when he was still young, too young to remember her. You, on the other hand, remember her. So without you, Thomas had no example of the kindness, you see as his nature. Without you, he is this.

If you were not born; this is what would have become of Thomas. Certainly he lives, but he lives a life of unhappiness and bitterness. Whilst when he lived, he lived a life of joy if only for a short time." Angel finished, lightly.

Athos stared at for a long moment, before turning his eyes to Thomas, well on his way to intoxication. All the weight that had left his shoulders mere moments ago settled again, and this time it felt heavier than before.

Finally, he sighed and turned away; "I want to go."

"Very well," She conceded, giving a short nod of her head. "But there is more."

Angel slipped her hand into his, and there was a flash of white light.

* * *

><p>Upon opening his eye, Athos found himself back in Paris, once again, in the all too familiar courtyard of the Chatalet. High dark walls rose around them, with windows in which Prisoners looked out off. Standing before them was gallows, in which a noose hung dauntingly, snowflakes fluttering about it.<p>

"Why are we here?" Athos asked, turning to Angel.

"Just watch." She replied, looking up at the noose, swinging in the bitter wind.

It was just then that a door opened from across the yard. An Executioner stepped out, followed by a Priest. Athos tilted his head, watching the scene with confusion and wariness. From the shadowy doorway, the very person he had sentenced to death himself.

Milady De Winter, clad in a tarnished ragged dress. Her once sleek hair was a messy tangle. She was incredibly pale, with dark shadows under her green eyes. She seemed only a shadow of the woman he had ever known her to be. But the contempt in her eyes lingered still.

"Anne?" Athos murmured, shock writing itself across his face.

"You said that even _she_ would be better off had you never been born." Angel said, watching as Milady walked with her head held high over to the gallows, with guards either side of her. "Well, you would be wrong again."

"What happened to her?" He asked, although without a shake in his voice.

"Even if she had never met you, had never married you, she made the same choices then led to her failings. She murdered people, became an Seductress Assassin if hire. The only difference between the two chain of events...you offered the chance of a better life." She told him, evenly. "First when you married her, and then when you let her go."

The Executioner looped the noose around her neck, as the Priest stood praying for her soul.

Athos turned away; "Please, I cannot watch her die."

"You still feel for her?" Angel asked, almost curiously.

"Not in the way I did once." He answered, as the Priest finished his prayers. "I pity her."

Angel nodded, understanding, and slipped her hand into his again; "Know this; it was not _you_ who turned her into what she was _her_ decisions, _her_ choices that made her who she was."

The Executioner slipped the stool from beneath her feet, and then were a flashing of light around them.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

* * *

><p><strong>*Ducks for cover* Please don't lynch me! - <strong>**Coming up, the Captain and the Constant Friend. **

**Please review, follow, favourite! It makes me feel so good inside, like a hug to the soul!**

**God Bless and Happy New Year!**


	4. The Captain & The Constant Friend

**Hmm…So it's what? Been a month since the last update? I'm really sorry and it is now far past the time for Christmas Fics, but I refuse to leave it til next year.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy. **

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

* * *

><p><strong>Twas The Night...<strong>

**Chapter Four, The Captain & the Constant Friend:**

"Is this the Garrison?" Athos asked, for upon opening his eyes, he found that he and Angel were standing in the centre of what appeared to be the yard of the Musketeer Garrison. Except, desolate; the widows were cracked or smashed, the wooden beams brittle and the steps leading to Treville's Office were all be destroyed.

"It was." Angel answered, with a sidelong glance in Athos' direction.

"Was?" He repeated, and he turned to look at her, only to find that she was not where she had been only seconds ago.

"Do you still believe that the lives of your loved ones would have been better had you not been born?" Her voice drifted over to him, and looking around Athos found her standing above him outside Treville's Office, leaning against the unsteady railings. "Now that you have seen what would have come into being?"

He gazed up at her, silent for a moment; "I do."

She raised her eyebrows, prompting him further.

"Thomas is alive. If I had not been born, he lives." Athos commented, humbly. "His life, regardless of how different it may have been, is still more precious to me than my own. Do not ask me to wish my life over that of my Little Brother."

Angel nodded, seeming to understand or at least accept his point. He blinked, and was surprised that she had once disappeared. Turning, he found her standing in the arch of the Garrison Tunnel.

"Very well." She said, simply. "In that case, there is more you should see."

Angel touched his arm and in a blink of an eye; she and Athos had once again transported. They stood in the tiny kitchen which Athos had visited many times, and right on cue; Constance stepped into the room, carrying a pot of vegetables.

"Constance?" He murmured, brow knitting together. He glanced at Angel, and she simply gave him a sidelong smile and then turned her gaze back to the Seamstress, as she hoisted herself up to sit upon the table. Athos followed her stare, turning back to Constance.

The Young Woman seemed different, somehow, in an not-so-obvious way. She was thinner and paler, with dark shadows beneath her eyes. It struck up a rather protective instinct in him.

"Constance!" came the sharp voice of Monsieur Bonacieux, announcing his arrival as he entered into the room that was dimly lit candles. As he came to stand in front of the table, right in front of Angel, she stuck her tongue out pointedly at him.

"Really?" Athos asked, arching an eyebrow.

She shot him a grin; "Don't pretend you don't think he's a right ar-..."

"Constance!" Jaques repeated, loudly and arrogantly. "My Second Cousin and his Family will also be joining us for Christmas Dinner."

"Really?" She murmured, something very tentative in her tone and anxiousness adorning her face. It made Athos frown, for the Constance he knew had never been tentative.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Jaques demanded, sounding as if there had better not be a problem.

"No. Well...it's just that...that would be another four people and then we'd have twelve at dinner all together and..." Constance trialled off and looked to the table, which bore a couple of bowls vegetables, and one large bird. Athos twigged on instantly.

"There's not enough food." He murmured, more to himself than anyone, but Angel heard him and nodded.

"_And?!_" Mr Bonacieux repeated, expectantly.

Constance diverted her gaze to the ground, ringing her hands together nervous. "Never mind. There's no problem."

"Good." The Draper turned on his heel and marched out. Constance sighed and turned back to chopping her vegetables. Athos stared at her back, concerned.

"She won't eat." He stated. He'd lived in Paris long enough to know how it worked. And he'd known Constance long enough to know this wasn't her typical behaviour.

"What's wrong with her? The Constance I know would have just said that there wasn't enough to feed his whole family, and he would've just had to accept it!" Athos asked, turning back to Angel. "She's stronger than this!"

Angel smiled sadly at him.

"Do you remember when you first met Madam Bonacieux?" She asked, simply. He frowned and turned back to Constance.

"Yes." He sighed, concern written all over his face. "I'd been in Paris a month or two. I was living in either dingy old taverns or the streets, but I was caught up in my own grief that I didn't care." He explained, the memory coming to him like it were yesterday. "I picked fights, I drank even more than I do now, I was a mess. And then I met Constance. Some Thugs had cornered her down some alley on her way home the Market. I stopped them from mugging her, and was thanked for my actions with a severe beating myself. Afterwards, I was so weak from fatigue...I passed out. Constance picked me up out of the gutter and took me back to her home. She had me wash, gave me clean clothes, a hot meal, and then proceeded to scold me for my life choices. But she looked out for me after that. Patched me up whenever I got into fights. Gave me hot meals when I hadn't eaten for days. She even went to the Captain, telling him what a good swordsman I was."

Angel smiled as he finished his tale, and Athos turned to look on at Constance's back with sad eyes. "She saved my life."

"I think it worked both ways." Angel suddenly said, in her feather light voice. "I think you saved Constance Bonacieux, too."

Athos shook his head. He had brought Constance nothing but trouble. He was even the cause of her heartbreak, for had Milady never gotten involved with D'Artagnan to get at him, she and D'Artagnan would still be together. Happy.

"Imagine; had you never been born; who would've saved Constance in that alley that day? No one. The attack left her beaten and bruised and bloodied. And did her Husband care? He was more bothered by the scars it left on her..."

Athos' eyes flickered down to the white lines standing out stark on Constance's pale forearm. And as she pushed her auburn bangs from her eyes, he felt a lump rise in throat. A jagged, ugly scar ran from the right side of her forehead, cutting into her eyebrow and down the side of her face, to her cheek bone.

"It broke her spirit. She grew afraid. Afraid to leave her House. Afraid to stand up for what she believed in. So she stayed silent, grew to be the dutiful wife that Bonacieux always wanted. But she'll die young, because of taking care of everyone else eventually kills her."

Athos suddenly jerked away and rushed from the House. As he stumbled outside, he bent over and heaved. The idea that Constance had been hurt so badly because he hadn't been there was nearly enough to break him.

"Come on." Athos looked up and saw Angel standing in front of him. "There's more."

She turned and began to walk away from the Bonacieux House. Glancing back, one last time, Athos followed after her.

They walked some way, through the snow blanketed streets of Paris. Still reeling from what he'd seen, Athos stared at the ground without saying any attention to where they were going. He was distracted, then, by Angel's small bare feet contrast against the white snow.

"You've surely got to be cold." Athos muttered, bewildered.

"I'm really not." She answered, with a sidelong grin aimed his way.

It was then that Athos and Angel arrived at their destination. Looking up, Athos saw a sign blowing in the cold wind. It was the sign of the tavern he had been drinking in before.

"What are we doing here?" He asked, turning back to Angel. She smiled brightly at him.

"After you," She said, pushing the rickety door open and standing back for him to enter. Athos stepped through and into the tavern. It was no different to before; filled with excited chatter and merriment because of the time of year.

Angel stepped into the tavern and looked around it with a broad grin on her face, as she stood beside him; "Well, this is nice."

"I've always thought so." Athos confessed, almost absently. "Places like this are so full of diversity. It's a safe haven for everyone. A place of community and a place to come together to laugh."

"A very optimistic view from someone content to isolate and torture themselves in drink." She remarked, with a sidelong smirk. He looked at her and smirked right back, as they began to wander through the crowds.

"Isn't that true of all in life, though? Regardless of whatever goodness that come out of it, there will always be individuals and groups who will misuse and abuse it. You see it everywhere; in Governments, Marriage, Faith." He concluded, as they came to stand in a corner.

"Well put." Angel conceded, thoughtfully. Her eyes left his face and fixed at a point in the corner of the tavern, and she nodded toward it; "Tell me, what do you make of that then?"

Athos shifted to look to the corner, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Treville?" He gasped.

For there, in the corner, was none other than Treville, Captain of the King's Musketeers. He was a poor sight to see, all disheveled and half way to a drunk oblivion. His hair was unkempt, his beard was scruffy, his clothes were ragged and tatty. His usually keen eyes were dulled by drink and seemed empty, he leaned heavily against the table and seemed totally apathetic to his surroundings.

Athos set off across the Tavern to where his Superior Officer sat.

"What happened to him?" He asked, looking around at Angel, who had appeared behind Treville in question, leaning against the wall. "What's wrong with him!?"

"His fall from grace." She answered, calmly. "Treville was dishonoured and shamed; he fell in favour of the King, his reputation tarnished. He now drowns his sorrows and failings here."

"Fall from grace?" Athos repeated, bewildered. "But the Captain is a Man of integrity and honour; he has never failed in his duties. There is not one Musketeer who does not hold him in admiration and esteem!"

"Well, there lies the problem. The Musketeer Regiment? It's obsolete. No longer in operation." Angel told him.

"What? How can that be?" He asked, looking from Angel to Treville, trying to make sense of this all. "I hardly had any hand in the Formation of the Regiment. That was Treville!"

"No. That's true." She admitted, moving around and coming to rest her hand on the back of Treville's chair, looking down at the Musketeer Captain sadly. "But you did more than you think."

Athos listened to her as she went on, hearing what she had to say, seeing what was before him but still struggling to believe it all.

"You are one of the finest Musketeers, the Regiment has seen. And you have done so much for it. You have been a Man of example, like the Captain; you lead your life with a Code of Honour, provide wisdom and knowledge where it is required, stand up for the underdogs and the weak. You don't realise; but you are so admired and respected by your Peers."

"What does that have to the Regiment not being in function?" He asked, wanting her to get to the point. He couldn't stand hero-worship.

"Simple. Without you; the Musketeers failed." She said, shortly. She then continued; "You are Treville's Second in Command, his most trusted Lieutenant, and his most loyal of Musketeers. And the Regiment, itself, was one that took in the Outcasts, the Rejects and the Veterans. Without you, by Treville's side, and the Men who followed your example; the Regiment struggled to grow into the one you know it to be. And when the Cardinal went out to dishonour and destroy it's name, he went for the one who stood strongest; Treville. The Captain was dishonoured for whatever it was that the Cardinal had accused him off. And the Regiment was discontinued."

Athos was silent for a moment, before coming to sit opposite his Captain, a tired look adorning his face.

"Life is so often misused and abused by those who seek selfish power. But is those fair few; who use it for the potential good that every aspect of Life produces, it is those individuals; who make the real change." He said, sadly. "Captain Treville was one of those few. You say that the Regiment failed because I, and those who follow my example, were not there. But it was _Treville_, who I modelled who I would be on."

Athos gazed at his Captain with sadness, deep in thought. Finally, he asked the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he had started on this strange adventure; "Where are they?"

He tore his gaze from Treville, and he raised his stormy eyes to Angel, and clarified; "Where are my Friends? Where are Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan?"

"You may not want to know the answer." Angel answered, quietly.

"I have to know." Athos countered, rising to his feet. "Take me to them."

He held out his hand, and Angel stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she reached out and took it. Athos dared not look back at Treville, instead closing his eyes and in his mind's eye swam the faces of the three people he longed to see the most, but feared to see all the same.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

><p><strong>This has turned very angsty, very quickly.<strong>

**Please review and tell me what you think! I love reviews. They make me feel so warm inside!**

_**And**_**…Keep Reading.**


End file.
